Heartbeat
by Alasse
Summary: He's wanted to die many times. It's only now that he really wants to live. Manga-verse, MAJOR spoilers for Volume 10. Slight VxW.


He's wanted to die many times. He's wanted to die since he was a small child, hearing faint gunshots that told him that his entire life as he knew it was over, wanted to die when he was wandering around in the desert with nothing but kicks and curses aimed his way, people telling him to go beg on some other street corner because they've got enough troubles of their own. He wanted to die at the Eye of Michael, prayed (now there was something ironic) for it almost every day, wanting it so badly he could feel his entire body reverberating with the simple desire to fade away into nothing, to become a void, a simple shell with no personality, no betrayal, no heartache to fill him up. He's wanted that oblivion many times before.

It's just a mark of how fucked up his life is that he wants to live right now when that's pretty much the only thing he can't do.

He doesn't regret it. If it was anyone else...yeah, maybe he would have just shot them, dealt with Tongari's anger and disappointment later. But it's Livio, no matter how screwed up he is, and that means that he's still responsible for him. He can't kill him-that would invalidate just another thing about him that was good, make him that much closer to being just a killing machine, and that's something that he's trying desperately to avoid, especially right here, with the kids and Melanie just a heartbeat away. He can't kill him and that means that he's got to throw himself on the line. He hopes Livio'll live to appreciate it.

He even wanted to die after he met Vash, just because sometimes it seemed like the best option. He remembers the closest time he came to it, Vash's eyes blazing with fury, his entire body trembling in rage as he started to scream. He'd been so damn angry at him, so furious that someone could be that naive that they honestly would believe that someone wasn't going to shoot, that he thought that Rai-dei would play fair. He remembers how the cool gun barrel felt against his eye, how his heartbeat slowed with acceptance, because he still hadn't known Vash that well, thought that maybe if he pushed just hard enough he'd get him to do it. And then it would be over.

It wasn't the first time that he'd had a loaded gun to his head before, but for some reason it felt like it was the most serious. Probably just because this was the first time that he'd realized just how close to edge he was, just how fine the line between sanity and oblivion was. He saw it in Vash's eyes as well, the horror and worst of all, the pity. He never wanted anyone's pity, never had any use for it. It was after that incident that he tried to care more about himself, tried to put a value on his life. It got easier when he cared more about Vash. He couldn't die because then Vash would be upset. He hopes now that Vash will be a little bit more than upset, as horribly selfish as that might sound.

The couch isn't as soft as it could be, but it was the most comfortable thing out here in the rubble and he really doesn't know why there's a perfectly whole couch just sitting here anyways. It doesn't make any sense, but there's been a lot about his life that hasn't made a whole hell of a lot of sense. The alcohol makes sense, burning its way down a throat that can't really do much of anything anymore.

_"Smile Tongari. You look better...when you smile." _

He kind of wishes he'd picked something a little more eloquent to say.

God, he doesn't want to die, not here, not now. For the first time in his life he's got a purpose, he's got a mission, he has someone who relies on him. All the times that he tried to die just seem stupid to him now, now when he's so damn close to the real thing that he's beginning to see blackness edging in on his field of vision. He wants to live, wants to see the kids grow up and become people, wants to see the girls' faces as the ships from Earth come in, wants to be able to live on someplace that isn't a desert hellhole...wants to be able to see Vash smile again, really smile like he's never done before, with teeth and his eyes sparkling and no worries anymore because everything's going to be ok, it's really going to be all right now and God he just doesn't want to die.

For the first time in his life he wants to cling onto that little last scrap of being and never let it go, but he can feel his fingernails slipping away with every tiny inhalation.

_"Hey Wolfwood...Don't...say anything stupid..."_

Vash gets it. He's grateful to him that he doesn't have to spell it out, because he's terrified himself of what's going to happen and if he had to tell Vash about it and see that hopelessly confused look that he gets whenever he realizes that this is a really shitty planet he might just break down and there would go his heroic death scene. Hell, he doesn't know what he's blabbering on about. Vash has probably known that it was going to happen for a while now. He forgets sometimes, just how smart he really is.

He's glad, after all's said and done, that Vash came. When he thinks about it there's no one else he'd really rather be with at this point and time. There's no one else he'd accept being with either. He just wants him there, wants to know that he's not alone, not anymore. He wants to say something else, something profound that they'll have to write down in all the books and talk about what a great philosopher Nicholas D. Wolfwood was, what a shining example to intellectuals everywhere, but he can't think of anything except how he kind of wishes that he had another cigarette. Somehow he doesn't think that bitching about missing a smoke is going to get him into inspirational speeches.

He wants to say something comforting to Vash or maybe to tell him to not to freak out too much-he'd been living on borrowed time since the escape from the Ark and this way he got to go home, got to see that everything was all right and even managed to save Livio. It wasn't a bad way to go, thinking about all the other ways he might have ended up, but he doesn't want to go at all, wants to stick around and see how this is all going to finish, because he fancies that Vash'll be well-nigh hopeless without him, all running around and blubbering whenever he stubs his toe-how the hell the entire world's supposed to pin their hopes on him he has no idea. But somewhere along the way, he started to hope as well.

_I made...a friend..._

And he kind of wants to hold Vash, wants to feel his comforting weight pressed up warm against him, but that would mean moving and his limbs don't want to do that anymore. He wants to make a crappy joke, just to see Vash pretend to smile at it, he wants to take another drink, he wants a _smoke, _dammit it all to hell, but he can't have any of those things because his body's shutting down on him, his organs stretched to the max and the terror's pressing in now, thick and suffocating against his throat.

He's presided over a few funerals, he's seen men die, too many men, and he doesn't know the first damn thing about death. He doesn't know what awaits, doesn't know if he was putting his faith in nothing at all, because he's never actually experienced. He doesn't know what'll happen to him after he dies, but he can almost bet that he's not going to be with the choirs of saints and angels-that kind of scene is for Vash, not for him. Doesn't mean to say that it'll be all hellfire and brimstone either-if there was a place that was like here, then that would be perfect for him. Enough perks to reward him for his occasional good behavior, but still shitty enough to make him know that he was being punished.

He just wants to move and he doesn't want to die and this feeling is the strongest that he's ever felt and he wants to cling to Vash and sob like a little girl because it wasn't supposed to turn out this way, he was never supposed to care this much and he doesn't want to go and he's terrified of what's going to happen and he doesn't want to leave Vash, not now, not after they've come so far. Even the sky seems to be crying...wait, what the hell is that? Little pieces of paper are hitting his face and it's so surreal that he just has to stop everything and ponder what the hell's going on-then he realizes-the paper's coming from the ship, the ship with his kids on it.

They care too. They care about him, even here at the end when he's bloodied and shown them things that no kid should ever see, even after they can't even recognize him anymore-they still care about him. They're welcoming him home, everyone smiling like he was a kid again, with love and acceptance warm and comforting around him, and they don't care about who he is, what he's become, because he's not Nicholas the Punisher, not Chapel, not even Wolfwood-to them he's Nico-nii and always will be. And Vash is still sitting beside him, his presence soothing and inflaming him at the same time, just like it always does, and he just _cares_ so much about him, Vash has always cared about him, even when he didn't, and it's just so futile and pointless that he can't hold it in anymore.

The paper's falling and the sky's clear and the wind's not blowing for once, the sunlight clear and bright on his failing eyes. He can feel his heart pumping faster, still valiantly trying to keep him going even though the rest of his body's long given up. The paper hits his face, soft, as soft as Vash's hand on his cheek, as soft as the barest brush of an embrace when they didn't have time to make it anything more. Emotion crushes him as the ship's shadow passes over him and he can just barely hear Vash's hitched breath and his vision fades entirely and-

_This is it._

He doesn't want to go, it isn't fair, but no one's listening to him, not anymore, not that they ever did and he doesn't want to go, he wants to stay, he wants to stay, why won't anyone understand this-

His mouth opens in a scream, guttural and shrieking at the same time, the last voice that he'll use, the last protest that he'll ever get to make. He hopes it's enough to tell Vash that at the end, he really wanted to stay with him, that he really did care when it mattered the most, hopes that Vash'll understand everything that he didn't get the time to say. He hopes that Vash will forgive him. His voice carries through the landscape, echoing even though he doesn't know how that's possible. He feels something foreign trickle down his cheek, wet and warm and a faint taste of salt comes to his lips.

Funny. He'd thought that after all the shit that they'd done to him he couldn't cry anymore.

Just something else he'd been wrong about.

His lungs give out; he exhales one last time and slumps against the couch, the bottle falling from limp fingers.

He feels his eyelids flutter closed, feels a last stab of regret of pain of sadness of love-

_I'm sorry Vash...so sorry..._

_Goodbye..._

_Welcome home Nicholas._

_I made…a friend…_

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vash knew what was coming, knew somehow that Wolfwood wasn't walking away from this. He'd known ever since Wolfwood took the knife for him, ever since he fell and he let Vash catch him. He'd never done that before, never shown him such obvious submission outside of their closed room and ever since then, he'd known. Sitting on the couch he could hear it in his breathing, knew that Wolfwood's body was just a few minutes away from giving up, even if he wasn't.

_"Come and join me...I haven't had a drink with you in a while..."_

_"I do other things besides drink and smoke you know..."_

_"Like what?" _

He doesn't want to look beside him, too afraid of seeing what he knows that he'll find. He doesn't want to remember Wolfwood this way-he wants to remember him being too loud, too obnoxious, wants to remember him the way he looked when he was fighting, his muscles coiled and tight, his eyes blazing furiously, lips curled back into a feral snarl. He wants to remember the play of the moonlight over his tawny skin, wants to remember how he felt underneath his hands, wants to remember his strange tenderness just before sleep, his body naturally curling to fit together so perfectly that it must have been ordained. He doesn't want to see what the ravages of death have done to him. He steels himself and turns.

The first thing that hits him is the smile. He's never seen Wolfwood look this carefree before, the unnatural lines wiped away, his eyes clear and unblinking. He wants to say that he looks younger, but that's not right. He doesn't look old though...He is the boy he never was and the man he became, all at the same time, wrapped together and he's so beautiful and Vash wonders just what he would have been if his life hadn't been so horrible. But he wouldn't have been Wolfwood then, he wouldn't have been the dangerous play of emotions that swirled just underneath the surface and he never would have been as gorgeous as he was.

Wolfwood's body is heavier than he ever remembers Wolfwood being.

Wolfwood's head hangs limply against his shoulder as he carries him to the spot he's picked out. No one's around to see him cry, to see him break down with a bloody priest in his arms. He manages to put him down, to lay him out straight and then it really comes as he runs his fingers across his face, his skin cooling every minute, the stubble that he never could manage to quite remove scratchy against his fingertips. He wants to lean down and kiss him, but he knows that if he does he'll just be emptier because it's not Wolfwood lying there anymore. Not even he can bring him back.

Wolfwood would be probably be angry with him. He'd bellow at him that he should be conserving his strength, but he couldn't control himself. Knives was after the ship, the ship where Wolfwood's kids were. He could at least do that for him, at least see to it that his kids would always be protected, even when Wolfwood was gone.

He looks at his body once more, looking powerless and feeble now without the spark of life-well, in Wolfwood's case more like a raging fire. He remembers all the times they had, from the first meeting on the bus, through all of their disagreements, through their fights, whenever one of them would put themselves on the line for the other. Wolfwood had never run from him. He'd been the only one. He'd defied Knives for him, brought down the reign of hell upon himself for Vash, because at long last he believed that Vash could be the one person who could save the planet. Or maybe he just wanted to save him because he cared that much. Vash was really all right with either scenario.

His eyes linger on the face for a moment before he stops looking for an expression. There's not going to be one. He slides the lid over the body and stares down at the cross.

He'd honestly thought that he could save him.

_After all was said and done...I wanted to my tomorrows with him..._

_Wouldn't you agree...Wolfwood?_

He looked up at the sky and thought, for the first time that he just might be able to kill his brother.


End file.
